Breathe
by secretspark89
Summary: Season 7 bent/re-written, taking liberties, to add missing scenes from 7.1-7.13 using episodes as prompts; ends midseason, where at least in this story, the Tony/Ziva relationship is established. Rated M for mature language and adult situations; (on temporary HIATUS)
1. fallen

**Yes, I'm back. I had more than a bit of trouble with my old account being hacked and all, but I'm finally back, and with this story. Chapter two will in fact be up by tomorrow midday, and I deeply apologize for the wait on this one; i purposely refused to upload it again until I had Chapter 2 almost perfect. You guys were more than awesome last time: I had 17 reviews for my first chapter:**

**I DID CHANGE THIS around a bit, and made it a bit more reader friendly, and hopefully a bit better ;) **

**It starts off in Truth/Consequences and it'll be wrapped up around the Jan.26 episode- M for language and adult content ;)**

**(tony/ziva) breathe**

**Chapter 1**

_Though I've tried, fallen I have...  
I have sunk so low  
I have messed up  
Better I should know  
So don't come round here  
And tell me I told you so... _

As he unlocked the door and entered his dimly lit apartment, Timothy McGee ignored the barking pleas for attention from his loyal companion, aptly named Jethro. He headed straight for the strobing red light beckoning him to the answering machine. Keeping his keys in hand, he hit the play button forcefully; a sigh escaped his lips. He knew full well who had called, and that his plans to finally get a good night's rest would not come to fruition- at least not tonight.

"Hey Tim, it's Shelia." He could barely hear a word over the background noise, but it didn't matter. He knew what was coming. "So, I hate to call again, but Bill had me take his keys away, and he's gonna be broke tomorrow if he keeps buying rounds for the house-."

Tim turned on his heels and walked straight back out the door, leaving Jethro with an apologetic pat on the head.

He could hear Sheila's voice as he dragged his feet back to his car; '_Last call is at 2:30. I'll keep an eye on him 'till you can get here.'_ They were the same parting words in all her messages, laced with a heavy mix of pity and exhaustion. He glanced at his watch: 1:15. "Damn_." If she thinks she's tired_, he thought to himself, _she should try being me._

_

* * *

_

By the time Tim pulled up outside the bar, he'd decided that _this_ was definitely the last time- the last night he played chauffeur.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, Tony! Two hundred dollars?" He pulled the credit card slip closer to his face, willing the number to change, possibly by magic. "How did you even manage this?"

"Like I said Tim, he was buying rounds for everyone who'd take 'em."

Under any other circumstance, McGee would easily have been flustered talking a woman as beautiful as Shelia. She was blonde with pretty blue eyes, and unlike anyone McGee had expected to meet in a place like this. It wasn't as if _The Crown_ was a questionable place, in fact it had become a hangout of sorts for Team Gibbs over the past few years; however, young women like Sheila, working to pay their way through Graduate School at Georgetown, were not frequenters either.

Unfortunately, recent events had turned his weekly acquaintances with the barkeep into late, strain-filled evenings he was sure they'd both rather do without.

"I tried to close his tab up," she continued, jabbing her thumb toward the bar's manager, "but you know Bill. A dollar spent is a dollar earned."

She handed Tim the credit card, now dull and worn from its recent overuse, but when she reached beneath the bar for Tony's confiscated keys, Tim shook his head. "No way. He's doing the walk of shame tomorrow; he can pick them up himself."

"Oh yeah, McGenius?" Tony stood from what he had claimed as _his_ stool at the bar. He was tired of being talked about like he couldn't hear a word of it. "And how am I supposed to get to work, huh?" His speech wasn't slurred, but his hand eye coordination was shot to hell. When he reached up to retrieve his keys, Sheila snatched them away without effort.

"No worries Tony, I'll get you there safe and sound." His words were more for Sheila's benefit than anything, letting her know she'd made the right decision in calling him. Putting a hand on Tony's back to steady him, he continued, "I'm not driving forty five minutes to your place just so I can drive forty five minutes back. Again." Frustration resonated in his words, and Tim wondered how much longer his partner would last if he kept on like this.

One thing was for sure; Gibbs' patience was wearing thin, and it was only a matter of time before the empathy for his Senior Field Agent ran out entirely.

* * *

McGee had a plan; well not actually a plan. He had an endgame, a destination of sorts, but the means to how he'd reach it were fuzzy, like Tony's vision.

So there they were, partners stumbling towards McGee's car at two o'clock on a Friday morning. It was a far cry from where they would have been a month ago. Sure, they could have been on this same exact street stumbling towards the same blue Prius, but the air between the two was different.

At work he tried his best to hide how badly he'd been affected by the whole ordeal, but the truth was, Tony was miserable. His jokes weren't so much funny as they were mean, although McGee knew he had no ill-intentions. He'd become withdrawn, even more so than usual, and everyone could see through his façade, despite his best efforts.

Luckily for the pair, Gibbs had given them the morning part of tomorrow to sleep in. They'd wrapped their case up with a nice little bow, and now all that was left was the mountain of paperwork everyone had left untouched throughout the duration of the week.

_She always started the paperwork early_.

It wasn't anything new that Gibbs' idea of paperwork was providing his signature, and only when absolutely necessary; what _was_ new, however, was the empty desk situated across from Tony's at the head of the bullpen. There had been three possible candidates to fill _her_ position; not one lasted longer than a week.

The paperwork would undoubtedly leave them chained to their desks into the wee hours of morning, yet again, but Tim was relieved to have at least part of the day tomorrow to fix this mess. Tony wouldn't see it as help though, McGee knew.

_Damn paperwork._

_Too bad_, he thought. It had to be done.

He slammed the car door and pressed the child lock button, a preemptive strike for Tony's struggle when he realized they were driving through McGee's neighborhood and not his own.

Waving goodbye to Sheila as he drove away, Tim contemplated how he'd approach the subject in the morning. _This_ was neither healthy nor helpful for Tony, dejected and drowning his sorrows at the bar. Ziva's death had been particularly difficult for the team, but Tony had taken the news harder than the rest, with good reason; Tony and Ziva had been partners for the better part of four years, and whenGibbs left her in Israel, he had never considered it would be the last time he'd see her alive.

_T__omorrow, _he promised himself_. Tomorrow will be the day_.

It'd been almost a month sense they'd learned of her tragic fate. Tim knew the pair had parted on less than favorable terms, but it didn't matter. No matter how angry or wrong he, or she, had been, McGee was sure they would have worked it out eventually; they always had in the past.

Knowing them it could have taken years, both stubborn and relentless, but Tony and Ziva had _something. _He wasn't sure exactly what that _something _was, but he was envious. It was how he knew Ziva wouldn't want this for Tony. And now that McGee was in fact Tony's partner, it was up to him to fix this; he knew that on another day, at another time, Ziva David would kick his ass for letting things spiral so out of control. All she'd need was a paperclip.

* * *

**Okay, so my plan is to start from Truth and Consequences and end it shortly after the trip they took on the 26 :) this will be on the longer side and although I'll be veering slightly away from the story line to make it more Tiva centric, I'll definitely be using actual scenes from the episodes as prompts. My only issue with the actual season is:**

** 1. There's no way Ziva's just OK after like 4 episodes……(but I promise there won't be any graphic scenes or total meltdowns here- I'm trying to keep it somewhat realistic;) 2. not enough MW - though, there'll never be enough (sigh)*****

**Tiva smut doesn't count though-there will definitely be some of that, like wicked soon; whether it be real, or a memory, come back and find out ;) Let me know what you think…. I'll work on the grammar aspect of things more in future chapters…..this is just my kick off point ;)**

**(reviews would be lovely, even if you hate it)**


	2. secrets

**A/N: Something you should be aware of while reading this fic…..I'm basing it on the assumption Tony and Ziva had some sort of relationship during the break between S3/4. They alluded to it, I know, but it was never actually addressed. (and I hold 'relationship' loosely; however, I do believe that **_**something**_** happened- something that would cause the jealousy between the two in later seasons)**

(tony/ziva) breathe

Chapter 2

_'Til all my sleeves are stained red _

_From all the truth that I've said  
Come by it honestly I swear  
Thought you saw wink, no  
I've been on the brink, so_

_Tell me what you want to hear  
Something that were like those years  
Sick of all the insincere  
So I'm gonna give all my secrets away_

_This time, don't need another perfect line  
Don't care if critics never jump in line  
I'm gonna give all my secrets away_

_

* * *

  
_

It's amazing what one can accomplish without sleep.

He'd done it before, plenty of times, pulling long hours at the office, putting sleep off for days; but it wasn't until Tim attempted it without the aid of Gibbs' drug of choice, caffeine in the form of ridiculously strong coffee, that he realized just how much he missed sleep. Then again, falling asleep at work was just asking for trouble.

Tim checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time; 4:15 am.

Time passed so quickly when they were working a case; there never seemed to be enough hours in the day. But now, in his own apartment, he was left with nothing to do. He had no dirty dishes, no paperwork, _well, that he had plenty of……at work_, but most regrettably, no coffeemaker.

So he sat, arms crossed, alone at his kitchen table with the one thing he had left. Silence.

Correction: Silence, and Tony.

It was a relatively small apartment, and from where he was sitting, Tim could see his partner perfectly, in a self induced slumber, awkwardly splayed across his sofa.

Then it struck him: _Abby! Abby can help_, he thought. _She's known him far longer than I have. _

He flipped open his phone. And then he shut it. No, he wouldn't call Abby. He couldn't.

It wasn't as if she'd been unaffected by Ziva's death. If anything, McGee thought _she_ would have been the one to crack under the weight of it all; he'd half expected her to appear at his door, mascara staining her cheeks as the tears streamed from her eyes, looking for solace.

He left his door unlocked, but she never came. Instead, she was uncharacteristically quiet. At first she blamed Gibbs. She'd never say it out loud, let alone to his face, but he knew. Her pigtails disappeared and her music was nonexistent. She stayed locked in her lab from 7 to 5, giving each new recruit a worse case of "the cold shoulder" than the last.

So no, he wouldn't call Abby. Watching Tony fall apart would ruin her.

Who was left? He didn't want to call Ducky; his psycho-babble would put him right next to Tony at the bar; and calling Gibbs was completely out of the question. It wasn't as if he couldn't see what was happening; Gibbs had just chosen to look the other way, for a while at least. However, the grace period he had afforded Tony was running out, and with the state Tony was in, Gibbs' either nail him to his boat, or slap him so hard there'd be brain damage, and neither of those options appealed to Tim. Well, maybe a little.

_Suck it up_, he thought. _It's just you._

He hadn't realized he was sitting in darkness until he needed to find his keys. He opened his phone, and using the light from the screen, he grabbed them off the counter and quietly headed out the door.

Light was just starting the break through the dark skies when McGee hit the pavement. He didn't need his car; he only had a block or two to go. The coffee shop around the corner opened at 5, and McGee needed a lot of coffee.

* * *

Showered and loaded with caffeine, McGee was ready to go. _This must be how Abby feels all the time_, he thought.

He was rummaging through his drawers for something Tony would wear without protest; they didn't exactly have the same taste in, well, anything. He let out a soft laugh when he heard his alarm go off a few rooms away, but it faded quickly when he heard it crash to the floor, followed by some rather harsh swearing, undoubtedly meant for his ears.

He entered the living room to find Tony upright, head in his hands. His clock, on the other hand, lay in pieces at Tony's feet.

"That supposed to be funny, Probie?" He rubbed his face vigorously between his hands trying to wake himself up.

"Not exactly laughing here, Tony." He folded his arms looking back at his clock. _Beyond repair, _he thought. _Damn._

"What time is it?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "You broke my clock." He stalked across the room ignoring Tony's annoyed expression. "You see the light coming through the window here?" McGee pulled the string to open the blinds. "That means it's time to get up."

The light stung Tony's eyes and he let out a loud, angry groan. He glanced over at his own very expensive, very unbroken watch.

"9:30? Damn, McGee, you couldn't give me another hour?" He sunk back into the cushions, stretching his legs; the headache was coming, he could feel it. Tim threw a pair of sweats his way and gestured to his left.

"Shower." It was a simple statement; not a demand, but it wasn't as if the word _please_ was coming anytime soon.

"And maybe in an hour, that'll happen." His eyes were still squeezed shut, trying to block the harsh rays of morning, but apparently Tony didn't need to be awake to be sarcastic.

"Jethro!" McGee called. For a big dog, he had very quite footsteps. Or, pawsteps, rather.

"Not really in the mood for tricks, McGee."

"Oh, but I am." Tim glanced down at the dog standing by his left leg. "Jethro, speak."

Before the dog even opened his mouth, Tony's eyes snapped open. He looked like a child, hands covering his ears, but it was far better than the alternative. He reluctantly stood, cursing at McGee through clenched teeth, who simply stared back, smiling smugly.

* * *

The dog had stopped barking as soon as the bathroom door slammed shut, but it was only the beginning for Tony: it had only taken minutes, but here it was, the headache from hell ready to wreak havoc.

He ran the water as hot as he could, instantly filling the small bathroom with steam. He took a deep breath, letting the heat clear his sinuses before stripping down and stepping under the water. Tony turned, facing the tile rather than the spray, letting the force of the water work the kinks out of his back. As if he didn't have enough problems, now McGee's sofa had it in for him too.

It was a full ten minutes before he even opened his eyes to look for soap. When he finally spotted it, he laughed aloud reading the label: _Axe Chocolate Dark Temptation Shower Gel__. Of course._

_

* * *

  
_

He walked out of the bathroom, barefoot but clean, greeted by Jethro, leaving a little wet spot on his pant leg with his nose.

"Damn dog," he muttered quietly as he swatted the dog away.

"Don't take _your_ bad mood out on _my_ dog." And with a soft whistle Jethro headed back down the hall toward McGee's room. Tim walked right passed Tony toward the island that separated his kitchen from his living room. "That's for you," he pointed towards the coffee and Advil set atop the counter. "It's not the Dinozzo Defibrillator, but it'll have to do."

"Yeah." It was as close to a thank you as Tim had expected.

He watched Tony search for sugar out of his periphery. The absence of his trademark expensive Italian suit only made the differences in Tony's physical appearance more noticeable. His hair was longer, and untidy, like he'd skipped a haircut, or two. The circles under his eyes were new, making him look tired all the time; maybe he wasn't sleeping well. He probably wasn't sleeping at all. He'd lost weight; enough that it didn't go unnoticed.

He was a mess.

Tony put his coffee in the microwave and looked down at his attire, pulling at the t-shirt to read the logo. The sweats were a little baggy, but at least they fit. "I feel like a gym teacher."

"Didn't you major in Phys Ed in college?" McGee scoffed.

"What's your point?"

"See? It's like '_what could have been.'_" He laughed at his own comment. Tony complained when he had to chase a suspect a mere few blocks. The thought of him exercising eight hours a day, five days a week, was absurd.

McGee's phone let out a chirp.

"Uh-oh. The girlfriend's got you on a tight leash there, huh Probie?"

"It's only Abby, Tony."

"Like I said," he teased. "You gonna answer it?"

"It was a text. It doesn't need a reply."

"Whatever, can we just go pick up my car?"

"No."

Tony let out a frustrated groan. "There a reason for that?"

"Um, I don't know Tony. Maybe because I'm not your chauffeur."

"I don't remember asking you to drive me anywhere. Do you?"

"You mean other than two seconds ago?"

"Fine." Tony was in no mood to play mind games. He took his coffee out of the microwave grabbed his phone from the table. "Thanks anyway, Probie."

There it was again. _Damn sarcasm_.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll just call a cab."

"No."

Tony slammed the door shut and faced him. "Is that your new favorite word or something?" His features twisted as if he were thinking, hard; "Oh yeah, and the last time I checked, _I_ was Senior Field Agent. I get to say no, not-"

"Then maybe you should act like it."

Crap. He'd said it; and now he couldn't take it back. Now he'd wait.

* * *

Tony didn't say a word. He was angry. Or maybe just frustrated. Maybe both. Couldn't McGee wait till later to have his little hissy-fit? His eyes shut again, but it didn't help- he knew when he opened them, McGee would still be there, and his car would not.

When he finally opened his eyes, McGee was there, tapping his foot, waiting anything _but _patiently.

"No, no. It's okay, I'll wait." McGee was pissed.

"Is there a problem, McGee?" Tony asked in a cheerful tone. False as it was, he knew by yelling, he'd only add to the pounding in his head.

"_I_ don't have a problem."

Tony got the implication. "Aaaand, neither do I. So be a good Probie, and let's go pick up my car."

_More silence. _

_Silence and staring._

"Oh, this should be fun," McGee lied. He unfolded his arms and brushed past Tony to take a seat in the living room. "Sarah and I used to have staring contests all the time when we were little. Come on," he pointed to the sofa where Tony had slept, "if we're gonna do it, we should do it right. You know, make some rules."

McGee was mocking him, and Tony didn't like it.

"Oh Timmy. _Heart to heart_ time? Alright, what's on your mind?" He patted McGee's knee as he took a seat across from him. Tony was patronizing him. He plastered on a fake smile and rested his hands beneath his chin. "Come on," he pushed. "We've only got an hour or so before Gibbs skins us alive."

_Like ripping off a band-aid_, McGee thought.

"McGee!"

"You aren't the only one who lost her," he snapped.

He hadn't expected his words to sound so harsh.

He certainly hadn't expected Tony to look so, hurt. He'd expected anger, yelling, maybe some physically painful repercussions; but not _hurt._ McGee suddenly got the sinking feeling he'd gotten in way over his head.

"Shut up, Probie." Tony's voice was a near whisper; calm and collected, but he was serious. "You don't know anything about it." He went to get up, but Tim wasn't finished.

"If you leave, I'll call Gibbs, Tony. I swear to God."

"Shouldn't swear to God, McGee. He doesn't like it."

"And _you,"_ he motioned in Tony's direction "shouldn't be doing _this. _Do you really think it's what Ziva would want?"

"_You_ don't know what the hell she'd want!" He stood, raising his voice, but McGee stayed seated. If Tony's upper hand made him nervous, it didn't show. "No one knows what _Ziva_ wants, McGee!" he shouted. "Cause Ziva's dead!"

Tony sucked in a sharp breathe of air. He hadn't said the words out loud before. In fact, no one had said it out loud before; not in Tony's presence, at least.

Suddenly he was nauseous, and had to sit back down. He leaned back as far as the cushions would allow, and stared at the ceiling. "She went off and got herself killed," he whispered. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"Not this." McGee pulled the receipt from the previous night from his pocket and handed it to Tony. "Two-hundred dollars Tony! It's ridiculous."

Tony looked at it and shrugged. "I can always just drink at home. It's just not as fun."

"You aren't the only one who lost her," Tim repeated.

He was right, of course; but Tony didn't care. "It's not the same." His eyes wandered back to the ceiling. At least the ceiling wasn't judging him.

"Why, because she was _your_ partner? How about the time you went undercover and avoided her like the plague, huh? Who do you think she was with while you were off doing _God knows what_ for the Director?"

"Doesn't matter. It's still not the same."

"What are you, five? _It's_ _not the same just because you say it's not_?" Tony refused to acknowledge the question. "Could you maybe, I don't know, answer me? Or at least look at me? That'd be nice."

"Fine." He repositioned himself so he was directly in McGee's line of vision. He stared at him, challenging him. "It's just not the same. Okay? And yes, she was _my_ partner, not yours." He was talking through gritted teeth, like he was holding back, afraid he'd do something he'd regret. "So you got to know her a bit better for a few months when I went undercover?" Tony held up his right hand, showing four fingers. "Four years," he yelled. "You had a few months. She was my partner for four years."

"Kate was your partner too."

"This is your pep talk? You suck at this."

"But I'm right. She _was_ your partner."

The conversation wasn't going exactly how Tim had hoped, but there hadn't been any bodily harm, yet. At least that was a good sign. "And what about Paula? You weren't partners, but the two of you got pretty close, if I remember correctly."

"Correction, you _really _suck at this."

"Come on, Tony," he pleaded. "How is it different?"

Tony exhaled heavily. _How the hell was he gonna get out of this one?_

"You and Gibbs," he started, "you have Abby."

"So do you," McGee countered.

"Okay, fine. So do I. But it's not exactly the same with us, is it?" He shook his head and drew his words out like he was talking to a child. "Noooo, it's not. I've known Abby pretty much since the day I met Gibbs, but you and her have the whole computer deal, and she and Gibbs-," he stopped, thinking. "Well I'm not exactly sure what they have, other than the whole sign language thing, but we all know she's his favorite."

He wasn't done, Tim was sure; so he let a few minutes pass before Tony continued. "Abby's your favorite, too, just in case you weren't sure."

McGee smiled. It was a desperate attempt on Tony's part to break the awkward silence that had ensued, but a failed one at that. So McGee waited, again.

"Ziva was my favorite." He looked down at his feet, like he was in trouble. "I mean, I love Abby, but Ziva…….Ziva was my favorite."

"I know."

_I know? _Tim thought_. Stupid._ Now he felt bad. Twenty minutes ago he was angry, ready to tell Tony off; now, all he felt was guilt.

"But to be fair, Tony, you and Ziva weren't like me and Abby. I mean Abby and I never dated, per say, but you know we were kind of together when we first met." Tim smiled. "I was completely enamored with her."

"Was?" Tony teased. If McGee expected him to bare his soul, he certainly wasn't getting off scot-free.

"Anyways," Tim cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed, "I just mean the two of you weren't like us. Sure you teased each other mercilessly, but you were never _like that_."

Tony considered himself a pretty good liar, usually; but a very tired, hungover Tony, was an easy read. His eyes darted quickly away from McGee, and then quickly back trying to cover his tracks.

_Damn, _he thought. _I'm caught._

"Oh, Tony," McGee cried. "What'd you do?"

"Woah, woah, whoa," he barked. "It's not my fault! She was just as much a willing participant as I was!"

Tony had a point, and McGee knew it. There wasn't a person in the world who could force Ziva to do, well, anything. "Okay, I know; sorry," he muttered. He thought for a moment before pressing further, "So she was right, then?"

"Huh?"

"You were jealous?" It sounded like a question, but Tim couldn't hide the accusation pitted behind it. Again he expected anger, yelling; and again he was surprised when it didn't come.

"Of course I was," Tony answered softly. "But it's not why I killed him. I told you before, I had no choice."

"There's always a choice."

"He came at me first. He started it," Tony defended. "I don't care how it sounds and I don't care if you believe me. _I had no choice_!" He hated vindicating his history with Ziva to Tim; he knew he wouldn't understand.

"Wait, so when she was with Michael, she was, you know, cheating on you?"

"God no, McGee," Tony laughed.

He was relaxing now, propping his feet up on the side table. If he hadn't known better, McGee could have sworn he saw a smile on his face; almost. "Ziva and I never actually dated." He cocked an eyebrow towards Tim. "And it was a _long_ time ago."

_Okay, _McGee thought. _Keeping things light was key. _

He noticed Tony wasn't really talking to him, more to himself; it was almost as if he was remembering something, remembering _her_. And that made him feel even worse.

"Do you mean '_when you two went undercover'_ long ago, or '_before Vance split us up'_ long ago."

"More like when Gibbs decided to vaca in Mexico for a few months," he replied. "And when he came back, we ended it."

"We?"

"Okay, so maybe she brought it up, but I agreed," he claimed. "Like I said, we weren't dating, we were just, you know, having-"

"No!" Tim interrupted. He put his hands up in surrender. "You win. I don't want to know!"

"Oh, Probie," he said, half laughing, half serious. "I was just gonna say '_fun._' We were _having_ _fun_. But you're right," he commented glancing at his watch, "We've gotta get going."

Truthfully, they still had time, and if necessary, he could always pick his car up after work, but he wanted out of the conversation. He knew how it must have sounded to Tim, 'having fun'; It was entirely misleading, but he didn't care. McGee wouldn't understand. No one would.

"Crap," McGee muttered. "We are definitely going to be late."

The pair stood up in unison, scrambling for the door.

_One more attempt to smooth things over. _

"Just one more question," McGee added as he locked the door behind them. "You two never, you _know_," he gestured with his hands, "on my desk, right?"

_Slap._

"Ow!"

"No, McGee. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me, Tony," he retorted rubbing the back of his head. "It's a valid question."

"Well yeah, McGee, for me. Not for Ziva. She never would have done that. Me," he said poking himself in the chest, "I _totally_ would have done it, but not her."

* * *

The two remained silent as they made their way to the parking garage. McGee was still digesting what Tony had told him when he realized Tony had evaded the whole point of the conversation. Once they made it to his car he spoke up, "But hey," he muttered, looking at his partner over the car roof. He still hadn't unlocked the doors, so Tony had no chance to deflect, _again_.

"Yeah yeah, I get it, Probie. I'm your role model. Unless I'm 'picture perfect' your whole world shatters, _Poor Little Timmy_. I know," he winked. McGee let the comment go, taking it as a sign the conversation had been put behind them, not to be spoken of again. "Now let's get a move on!" He began a drum roll on the hood.

"Alright, okay."

He knew there was more Tim had wanted to say, but Tony was in no mood to hear it. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the easy out, but he was still peeved that McGee was able to so easily coerce him into spilling his guts. He'd used Tony's hangover against him. On a good day, this never would have happened. He couldn't be too angry with Tim, though; he was just trying to help. He could, however, get him back his own way; so once in the car, he wasted no time tormenting McGee.

Between the radio and the annoying beeping sound the car made when Tony refused to wear his seat belt, McGee almost regretted their conversation, but not quite. Instead, he sucked it up; he'd never admit it, but he'd missed Tony.

Hopefully now things could go back to normal.

* * *

**Sorry. I know that it's kind of weird how I wrote this chapter…it kind of got away from me.**

**Thanks for reading. FYI, you should know next chapter will be a flashback on Tony's part (a rather smutty one =)) um so if that's not what you're into…..sorry. **

**And a special thanks/shoutout to Betherzz. She couldn't have been nicer when I posted the last chapter……and her enthusiasm really fueled my writing ;)**

**Reviews would be lovely;)  
**


	3. a drop in the ocean

**A/N: more of a chapter-let than a real chapter, if that's a real thing; I got a PM the other day asking if I was holding my stories for reviews…._NO WAY!!_ I get sooo turned off by demands for reviews, especially when they contain threats, that I find myself purposely not reviewing, lol. So no, I'd never do that. I do thank you guys who do review though, cause it makes my day ;)**

**Anyways, this is a prelude of sorts to the flashback I was setting up (from S3/4 summer break)**

* * *

(tony/ziva) breathe

Chapter 3

* * *

_Misplace trust in old friends _  
_Never counting regrets _  
_By the grace of god, I do not rest at all _  
_And New England as the leaves change _  
_The last excuse that I'll claim _  
_I was a boy who loved a women like a little girl _

_And still I can't let you be _  
_Most nights I hardly sleep _  
_Don't seek what you don't need from me _

_It's just a drop in the ocean _  
_A change in the weather _  
_I was prayin that you and me might end up together

* * *

_

To Tony's surprise, the car ride back to the bar had been easy, comfortable even. It was only after he'd picked up his own car that he let himself think of _her_. He refused to put the radio on; lyrics always held hidden meanings; and without distractions, Tony was left with nothing but his thoughts, _his memories_, and that was a dangerous thing.

He was already regretting having mentioned his and Ziva's summer together; he knew McGee wouldn't understand the reasoning behind it, and now Tony had all but compromised the integrity of it to avoid telling McGee the truth. It was just easier that way. He was sure Tim thought he'd figured it all out, even after this morning. But the reality was that Tony wasn't the typical depressed stereotype, drinking to forget.

_How could he forget her_?

Being with Ziva almost every day for four years had ingrained certain details into his memory, like her big chocolate brown eyes, or the way she crinkled her nose at him playfully, just because she knew it drove him crazy. Or her laugh; there was nothing in this world that could make him forget her laugh.

Then there were the _other_ moments; the ones he'd taken for granted; the ones that were an assault on his senses, and were no longer existent, or tangible. If he'd known there would be a time when he'd long for her, Tony would have paid more attention; somehow he would have made the moments last longer.

It had been before Jeanne and his mission; before he had fallen in love, with the wrong girl. If they'd just waited a few months, maybe he would have recognized the signs; that he'd grown too attached to Ziva to just let her leave; that although it was the farthest thing from love at first sight, over the years he'd _learned_ to love her; that he found her inability to comprehend adages, dare he say, _cute_; and that maybe, just maybe, his interference with Rivkin was rooted in more than just a twinge of envy.

But as usual, time was not kind to Tony, or Ziva. He'd wasted too much time resenting her for things that weren't her fault, or mourning a relationship that never really was, _real_, or on a damn boat, the miles between them stretching over continents, giving her ample time to find someone else. Someone new. Someone not Tony.

And knowing now that he'd once taken her for granted, that he'd had her and let her go, was driving him mad. To hear Ziva mewl his name, her voice thickly accented and rasping, or to feel her arch beneath him, her golden skin in a delightful contrast to his own, Tony would give anything. Even her scent, although he'd never actually quite pinpointed it. Most women went for lavender or vanilla, or something equally identifiable; but Ziva's scent had been unique. When he'd first met her, Tony found it misleading. Ziva was a woman who left an impression; she was strong, confident, and there was no doubt in his mind she could crush him with one hand, and minimal effort. Her scent, however, was very _girly_, and everything Ziva David was not. _Was it possible to smell 'pink'_? It seemed improbable, but it was the only way to explain it: _pink_; sweet and fruity, and so light there were times Tony was sure it was all in his head, until that summer when Gibbs left NCIS, and his rules went with him.

The summer had been one of fun and need and pent-up lust, passion. There were no forged whispers of love or the future; instead they lived in the moment, and when it ended, the only regret Tony carried with him was the bit of lingering jealousy he'd never been able to hide. Then again, neither could she. They'd been left with a sense of entitlement that neither of them had been able to break away from, even after they'd both claimed to have moved on.

Tony had been the one to initiate their tryst; it was the only way he knew how to stop her, or so he'd thought at the time. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that his reasons for wanting her to stay had been anything less than selfish, and now that she was gone, _dead_, Tony wondered how different things would be now, if he'd just let her go.

* * *

_"Ziva!" he pounded on the door, knowing she was home, and not caring that it was one in the morning. "You remember you showed me how to pick a lock, right?" Tony asked in a softer tone. "And I'm gonna pick it in…," he glanced at his watch, "five minutes." _

_It wasn't like he was looking to get killed tonight._

* * *

**Again, so sorry for the delay guys, but the flashback is proving difficult to write. I've got pages of stuff that I need to edit, and I'm not gonna lie, the smuttiness is a bit daunting to write (ANY advice on that would be great from you good sexxxy writers out there….you know who you are/ whether it be in a pm or otherwise.)**

**But w/e be on the look out over the next few days…..**

_**And ps, you guys are 10 shades of awesome, going crazy over my other story 'Forever Young'. 25 reviews for 2 chapters is likely more than I deserve, so thanks again ;)**_


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